


when you move (i'm moved)

by sepiacigarettes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Minor Acxa/Romelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiacigarettes/pseuds/sepiacigarettes
Summary: “You love us,” Pidge tells him.“Barely,” Keith snorts, saying exactly what was on Shiro’s mind.He says as much and that makes Keith laugh, and if his smile knocked Shiro for six, then Keith laughing absolutely winds him.“Look at that,” Hunk says, saccharine. “Barely known each other for more than five minutes and already you’re acting like a married couple.”Or: five times that marriage was mentioned towards Shiro and Keith, and the one time they actually got married
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 356
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	when you move (i'm moved)

**Author's Note:**

> written for [Becky's](https://twitter.com/hymnaria) lovely art and prompt, which are linked in the end notes!
> 
> thank you, Becky, for being the loveliest person to work with! you've been such a bright spark and I've so loved getting to know you better! much love, my dear 💘
> 
> and to my amazing beta [Christie](https://twitter.com/appetixing), thank you for always letting me moan and whine about my writing and still giving this a speed-beta anyway 💝

> I still watch you when you're groovin'
> 
> As if through water from the bottom of a pool
> 
> You're movin' without movin'
> 
> And when you move, I'm moved
> 
> You are a call to motion
> 
> There all of you a verb in perfect view
> 
> Like Jonah on the ocean
> 
> When you move, I'm moved
> 
> When you move
> 
> I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be
> 
> When you move
> 
> I could never define all that you are to me
> 
> — Hozier, _Movement_

  
  


**— one —**

Shiro likes September. September is the month when the days begin to cool, when the winds get a bit more bite to them. September means Autumn comes to soothe the damaging heat that Summer brought, and as per usual, the season announces its arrival by setting the world on fire.

It’s the best time to go running in Shiro’s opinion: not too hot, not too cold.

Allura doesn’t agree, and she’d staunchly refused when he’d messaged her that morning to drag her out of bed. It was gym or nothing, in her opinion. So Shiro went by himself.

The crisp Autumn air stings a little as he runs, but he likes the burn of it in his lungs, the steady _thumpthumpthump_ of his heartbeat as he pushes it into a pace that is just on the side of uncomfortable, the sound of his feet hitting the pavement.

Shiro likes running. After the accident and the months and months of rehab, staying indoors had been too suffocating. So he’d started going around the lake outside his house, and then kept going. It makes him feel alive, and sometimes, he needs that reminder more than oxygen.

“Kosmo!”

Shiro barely registers the yell before he’s colliding with a _wall_ of fur, feet moving too fast to stop from tripping over the red leash that’s attached, and he goes crashing to the ground.

“Oh fuck,” the person says, following him down. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Shiro says automatically, even though his instant thought is decidedly less amicable and more along the lines of plotting murder.

“Are you okay?”

Shiro looks up.

The guy is younger than him, with long silky hair, high cheekbones, a smooth jaw, full lips. His legs are a mile long and the black jeans he’s wearing are doing everything to highlight just how muscular they are.

He’s got the prettiest eyes Shiro has ever seen.

“Hi,” Shiro says, a bit stupidly, all thoughts of murder forgotten.

The guy blinks back, as if he too has forgotten the English language. “Hey. Um.” He closes his mouth, then opens and tries again. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

Shiro nods, the pain choosing that moment to make itself known. His palms are stinging. “Yeah, no problem.”

“You’re bleeding,” the guy says, tearing his eyes from Shiro’s and touching Shiro’s leg.

Shiro follows his gaze, sees how scraped up his left knee is, blood beginning to bead over his kneecap, and winces. That definitely looks like a problem. “Ah.”

“Sorry,” the guy says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kosmo gets too excited sometimes. Lost my grip.”

Kosmo is apparently the wall of fur. There’s no way he’s full dog. There’s got to be wolf in there somewhere.

“Oh,” Shiro says. His brain is still taking its sweet old time to come online after being completely arrested by the gorgeous stranger in front of him, and then the huge dog comes up to him and licks his face.

“Kosmo,” the guy scolds, to which the dog whines. “Leave him alone.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Shiro says, because he loves dogs, and he might be a little bit in love with this stranger already. The stranger doesn’t stop him when Shiro reaches out to pet the dog’s head, his hand disappearing into the fur. “He’s awesome.”

“Yeah, when he isn’t tripping up strangers,” the guy says, rocking back on his heels and standing before holding out a hand for Shiro to take.

Shiro does, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off him. Even his hand is lovely. “Thanks.”

“Sorry again,” the guys says, pointing at Shiro’s knee. “You should put something on that.”

“Yeah, I’ll limp home and do that,” Shiro jokes, wishing he could prolong the conversation, say something to stop the stranger from leaving him.

The guy grimaces in sympathy. “I’d offer you a lift but I think it’d be further to get to my car.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Shiro says, even if the stupider, irrational side of him wants to say he’ll limp over to the guy’s car just to stay in his presence for longer. “I’ll be fine.”

The guy ducks his head, still looking like he’d rather die. “Okay then.”

Shiro salutes him, already mourning the loss of him, and leaves.

—

The world might be on fire, but it’s _cold._

September means it’s the changing of the seasons, when the trees begin to die and Autumn sweeps in and paints everything red and orange and gold, and Shiro regrets walking.

He digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, warding off the oncoming chill. They say it every year, but this year’s winter is supposed to be the coldest yet, and walking down the street, it definitely feels like it. They’ve barely started Fall and already he’s tempted to dig out a scarf.

“It’s cold,” Allura sniffs, who hadn’t hesitated to grab a scarf on her way out the door when Shiro dropped by hers to pick her up. “Remind me again why we walked?”

Shiro snorts, letting her leech off his body heat as she clings to his arm. She’s a water baby who lived right next to the beach for most of her life before coming to Garrison University and having to adjust to a city that actually has all four seasons, so it’s understandable.

“Because Hunk lives ten minutes away and gas is expensive,” he reminds her. “It _is_ cold, though.”

“No shit,” she says, sniffing again for dramatic effect.

Shiro rolls his eyes. _Princess._ Besides, Hunk _does_ live ridiculously close to campus, so it seemed silly to drive.

“Do we know anyone else who’s coming?” Allura asks, rubbing her nose.

It’s gone pink from the temperature, and she’s always pretty, but the added flush makes her prettier. Shiro wonders how long it will be before some modelling agency snaps her up.

“Pidge?” he shrugs. “I don’t know. You know how Hunk is.”

“Yes,” Allura chuckles. “Friends with everyone.”

“A bit of a social cinnamon roll, yeah.”

Said cinnamon roll had ambled up to them yesterday when they were studying and declared they were coming around to his for dinner. Allura had glanced at Shiro to put the onus on him, eyes big and pleading, and, well, Shiro was never good at rejecting anyone, especially someone he considered to be his sister.

So here they are.

Pidge barrels into Shiro with a hug when they arrive, blinking up at him through the glasses she wears solely for the aesthetic. “I haven’t seen you in _years,_ Shiro.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he winces, because he hasn’t seen her since the last Holt family dinner over a month ago. “Uni was eating me alive.”

“I’ll eat you alive,” she threatens, scrunching her nose up at him before prying the bottle of moscato from his hands. He brought it specifically for her, a peace offering. “You’re on thin ice,” she says, beaming up at Allura, which Shiro thinks is totally unfair, before scurrying off.

“Shiro!” Hunk crows, shoving a beer at him. “Good to see you, bud.”

“Hey, Hunk,” Shiro smiles, buoyed by the Samoan’s easy-going nature.

Hunk has the type of personality that all grandmothers dream of, the kind of gentle pleasantness that could melt ice caps. Shiro still has difficulty equating the social butterfly Hunk to the nervous wreck he’s seen at exam time.

“You guys are the first here,” Hunk says, sipping his beer. “Guess I should have expected you to be ridiculously punctual.”

“We’re predictable,” Shiro says.

“You are,” Hunk agrees. “You know no one actually shows up to parties on time, right? Right?”

“Right,” Shiro says, and he hides his smile in his beer.

It’s one of the reasons he got on so well with Allura when they met up. She was a force of nature from the get go, demanding punctuality from everyone and just being so _organised_ with everything, and then one night Shiro found her in the library still up at some godforsaken hour, crying over an assignment.

“I just have to get this right, Shiro,” she sobbed, as if the assignment wasn’t due in two weeks’ time, and as if they hadn’t just started the semester.

Allura never looked ugly, not even when she was crying, and Shiro didn’t think twice about gathering her up and holding her, because he knew how crippling the pressure she was putting on herself was. He related too much to it.

They’ve been stuck to each other ever since.

The doorbell rings.

Hunk’s eyes light up and he’s on his feet. “Oh, that’ll be Keith.”

Shiro tilts his head, wondering why the name sounds familiar, before he remembers Pidge mentioning him at one or two of the Holt family dinners, and his name popping up in their group chat.

Pidge pops her head around the corner. “Ooh! Shiro, go with Hunk. I think you’ll like him.”

Shiro shrugs. “Sure.”

Keith is definitely not what Shiro had envisaged.

Pidge always talks about Keith sassing all their lecturers together, and how he’ll drag her to gym sometimes, and how they both almost killed their group members last semester, so Shiro assumes Keith will be someone very similar to Pidge: nerdy, skinny and outspoken, and definitely _not_ the gorgeous boy currently standing in front of him.

Because Keith is stunning.

“Missed you too, buddy,” Keith grunts after Hunk accosts him with a hug, voice low and rough.

Shiro wonders if maybe in a previous life he saved up all the good karma in the universe, because Keith is stunning and his voice is lovely and he’s in front of Shiro, he _knows_ Hunk and Pidge and—Christ, Shiro thought he’d never see _those_ eyes again.

“You,” Keith says when he notices Shiro, voice faint.

“You,” Shiro replies, equally surprised. It’s a _small_ world. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Hunk points between the two of them. “I was going to introduce you two but you guys already know each other?”

Keith turns a bit pink at that, nowhere near deep enough to match his jacket, but enough to make Shiro grin at the reminder.

“You could say that,” Shiro says. “I tripped over his dog the other morning.”

“Aw, Kosmo!” Hunk beams. “But—he’s almost the size of a horse. How did you miss him, Shiro?”

“I didn’t _miss_ him,” Shiro protests. “He ran into me.”

“Sorry,” Keith interjects.

“It’s fine,” Shiro assures him, left breathless by the way the light catches Keith’s eyes.

“You _tripped_ over him,” Hunk says with a shake of his head, as if he cannot believe Shiro could be that dense.

He leads the way back into the house, repeating things like, ‘I can’t believe you missed him’ and ‘wow, Shiro, how could you not see him’, while Shiro fails at defending his ego and Keith snickers.

Pidge and Allura are lounging on the couch when they return and they raise their brows at the bickering between Shiro and Hunk.

“I leave you for two minutes and you’re already starting fights,” Allura tells Shiro, which is even _more_ unfair than when Pidge told him he was on thin ice, and he’s halfway to protesting _that_ when Pidge interrupts him.

“You finally met Keith!”

“Finally?” Keith echoes, and Shiro cringes at how _obvious_ it must be that Keith has been a feature of conversation up until now.

His eyes flicker to Keith, who meets his gaze head on. If the world is on fire, then so is Shiro as he looks at Keith. He wants to burn to ash.

“Yeah,” Shiro tells Pidge, before he nods in Keith’s direction. “Nice to meet you properly, by the way.”

“You too,” Keith grins, and _fuck,_ that feels like it knocks Shiro for six.

Pidge looks between the two of them curiously. “Properly?”

“He tripped over Kosmo,” Hunk tells her in a conspiratorial whisper. _“Kosmo.”_

Pidge levels Shiro with a look. “Really, Shiro? How could you miss Kosmo?”

“I was running!” Shiro says, throwing up his hands.

“He was,” Keith says, and Shiro looks to him gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“Bah,” Pidge says, waving at both of them now like they’re irritating flies who need to find somewhere else. “Keith, have a beer.”

“Gross,” Keith answers. “Whiskey or nothing.”

 _“You’re_ gross,” Pidge retorts, cradling her glass of moscato close as she wraps her arms around Keith’s middle and says, “Is Romelle coming?”

Keith snorts. “You know you can just ask her. She doesn’t bite.”

Pidge buries her face in Keith’s side. “She’s _your_ sister.”

“You know she’s your friend too.”

Pidge looks at him balefully. “Is she coming or not?”

Keith utters a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, Pidgeon, after work.”

The smile that overtakes Pidge's face is very cute, before she seems to remember herself and promptly coughs. “Oh. That's cool.”

“Uh huh,” Keith says, petting her hair. “Sure, Pidgeon.”

“Ass,” she retorts.

—

Romelle turns out to be an equally-stunning blonde who kisses Shiro’s cheeks when she greets him and says, “I know you!”

So does Shiro, he realises, when he pulls back to appraise her properly. “Romelle,” he echoes dumbly, wondering how he’s never come across Keith before, because his sister has been a prominent feature in Allura’s snapchats over the last couple of months.

God, he even got coffee with her and Allura once.

“Hello!” she beams sweetly, before skipping over to her brother and looping her arms around his neck. “Isn’t this a small world, brother?”

“It is,” Keith says, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe you had to trip over Kosmo to meet,” Hunk says sagely.

Shiro throws a cushion at him. “I wasn’t _looking.”_

“Maybe if you spent less time with your head in the books,” Pidge says, as if she isn’t devoutly studious as well.

Hunk highfives her and Allura sighs happily, curling into Shiro’s side more fully. She really is horrible at handling the cold, and Shiro keeps freezing every time her feet touch him.

“Thank you for dinner, guys. It was nice.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, warmed by the alcohol and food and being surrounded by friends. “Should do it again sometime.”

“After holidays,” Hunk agrees. “What’s everyone doing for them?”

“Matt and I have been requested by our grandparents on the other side of the country and I can’t wait,” Pidge deadpans, cheeks pink from all the moscato she’s had over the night. “What else would I rather spend my holidays doing?”

“I'm going home to see Father,” Allura says happily.

“Take me with you,” Pidge pleads.

“Next time, dear. You can come during Christmas.”

“Deal.”

“What about you, Shiro?” Romelle asks. “Are you doing anything interesting?”

Shiro smiles ruefully, taking another sip of his beer to delay answering. In all honesty, he doesn't have much planned for his holidays; there’s gym, as always, running if he can stand the cold, and then learning to cook something edible enough so that Colleen won't stare at him forlornly the next time he offers to help her with dinner. The last time he did she had shooed him gently out the kitchen and Matt had taken his place.

“Nah,” he says eventually.

“Well that's lucky,” Romelle says. “I'm going home with Acxa, so Keith needs someone to look after him.”

“I don’t,” Keith disagrees.

“You know what?” Hunk says. _“Shiro_ needs someone to look after him.”

“It’s true,” Pidge intones, peering over her wine glass. “He’ll set his kitchen on fire otherwise.”

“Mean,” Shiro says, but he can’t argue against it. The smoke alarm went off the other morning when he was making toast.

Allura giggles. “Very true, yes.”

“You’re taking their side?” he says, clutching at his chest.

“Never,” she says loftily. “Simply pointing out facts.”

Keith lolls his head in Shiro’s direction, purple eyes appraising him lazily. God, he’s so _pretty._ “I guess I could be benevolent for once.”

“A hero,” Pidge simpers.

“Thanks, guys,” Shiro mutters, trying not to let the way Keith is looking at him get to his head.

“You love us,” Pidge tells him.

“Barely,” Keith snorts, saying exactly what was on Shiro’s mind.

He says as much and that makes Keith laugh, and if his smile knocked Shiro for six, then Keith laughing absolutely winds him.

“Look at that,” Hunk says, saccharine. “Barely known each other for more than five minutes and already you’re acting like a married couple.”

Shiro throws another cushion at Hunk’s head.

Keith keeps laughing.

  
  


**— two —**

Winter eases its way in, and with it, so does Keith. It’s an easy friendship, the kind Shiro never thought he’d ever have so instantly with someone.

The Holts have known him for as long as he can remember, have always taken him under their wing, all four of them, and he met Allura on his first day of class, so of course they were destined to be best friends. Cabin fever and shared trauma always made you like people so much faster.

But Keith.

Keith is a quiet force, wandering into Shiro’s life over the next three weeks with the ease of a summer tide, pushing up onto the shore of Shiro’s heart and burrowing down deep. It’s so easy, Shiro feels like he’s known Keith his entire life, and sometimes he’ll catch himself looking at Keith and thinking, ‘where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you’.

Keith is small smiles and casual touches to Shiro’s arm when he’s trying to get Shiro’s attention; he’s early morning coffees and late night movies, and his dog Kosmo claims Shiro immediately. He’s sarcastic humour and fiery opinions, and Shiro lets the tide pool around his feet, all too happy to let it rise higher and higher.

Maybe it will engulf him.

Shiro’s deep enough, he already feels like he’s in over his head. It can’t be normal to miss someone Shiro hardly knows as much as he does.

But he does.

Keith works the full Saturday and Sunday after a week of living in Shiro’s space, and Shiro spends the entire time moping in his apartment and waiting for Keith to text him when he can.

So he might be a little infatuated.

Sue him.

Keith asks about the arm once.

He’s the first person that Shiro isn’t immediately on edge with at the question, but maybe it’s the way Keith phrases it. Most people always ask how he got it, or how long he’s had it for. They’re usually just being nosy and Shiro resents it a lot.

Keith simply says, “Do you like it?”

Shiro stares down at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers into a fist. At the very start, it had taken Shiro weeks to learn how to do the movement, and now he can do it without thought.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek, because it’s true. It functions properly, requires little maintenance, and Pidge and Matt like to take turns tinkering with it whenever they fancy. But he hates looking at it sometimes, hates the fact that he had to get through the accident and the pain and the nightmares afterwards to arrive at this point. “I don’t particularly like it though, either.”

“No?” Keith says, as if he can’t understand why Shiro wouldn’t. “I think it’s pretty.”

Shiro’s had his arm called a few things, but never that. “You think so?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Keith shrugs, and he leaves it at that.

—

Keith is from the Marmoran desert, and the blustery coolth of Terra’s Winter is completely opposite to the dry heat of Keith’s hometown. Shiro finds that out when he suggests they go for a run the next morning. Keith stares at him like he’s grown a second head, and then protests vehemently when Shiro tries pushing the point.

“Crazy,” Keith tells him. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Been called worse things,” Shiro chuckles.

Keith frowns at him, slurping up the rest of his ramen. His lips are really pretty, Shiro thinks, stuck looking at Keith licking them clean of ramen broth and wishing that were him.

“That sucks,” Keith says. “But seriously. We’re not running. Not in this weather.”

“The sun is out,” Shiro protests.

“And the winds are gale-force,” Keith retorts. “We’re going to gym instead.”

It’s a compromise Shiro is willing to make. It’s only later that he regrets his decision. Shiro thinks it nearly ruins him, the sight of Keith lifting all those weights. He’s stupidly flexible too, curling up into a bridge pose to crack his back at the end of the two-hour session, and Shiro nearly chokes on his water.

“Jesus, Keith,” he gasps out.

Keith returns to the mat gracefully, laughing at him. “Like my party trick?”

“Party trick?” Shiro sputters, because _who_ can just bend into shapes like that? “Do you do gymnastics in your spare time or something?”

“Nah,” Keith says, stretching one long leg out in front of him. “Just super flexible I guess. Mama is the same.”

“Huh,” Shiro says, wishing he could stop his face from feeling like a furnace, wondering if Keith has any idea of the effect he has on Shiro.

From the way Keith is smirking at him, Shiro thinks he might.

—

They’re eating dinner at Keith’s apartment—Shiro’s specialty, Chinese takeout—when Keith gets a video call from his mother. She’s a carbon copy of him and her gaze sweeps curiously over Shiro before returning to her son.

“Hi, Mama,” Keith says, Marmoran drawl coming in stronger, and Shiro stares at him, endeared.

 _“Hi, Kit,”_ she answers, with the crisper accent of Daibazaal. _“Who’s your friend?”_

Keith coughs on his takeout. “This is Shiro. He knows Pidge.”

Shiro barely has time to sit up straighter before Krolia’s eyes land on him. They’re fierce, like her son’s. _“That’s nice. Hello, Shiro.”_

“Ma’am,” Shiro nods, flustered.

_“You must be who Keith keeps telling me about.”_

Keith’s cheeks burn pink, and he looks to Shiro with a death glare. Oh, Shiro is going to have so much fun with this later.

“The one and only,” he grins.

Krolia blinks at him, then at her son. _“He can stay.”_

“Mama…” Keith groans.

 _“Fine, fine,”_ Krolia says, holding her hands up in surrender. _“I just wanted to talk to you about your Pop. Do you have a minute?”_

“I can go,” Shiro offers, but Keith shushes him, standing up.

“Stay,” he says, eyes pinning Shiro to his seat. “I won’t be long.”

“Okay.” Shiro pops his head up to see the phone screen again. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs Kogane.”

 _“Likewise, Shiro,”_ she smiles, all teeth. _“You’ll have to come visit sometime.”_

“If Keith wishes,” Shiro hedges.

 _“He does,”_ Krolia beams. _“The way he’d been going on about you, I almost wondered when the wedding would be.”_

It’s Shiro’s turn to cough into his takeout. They already get enough shit from their friends, but Keith’s mother is a completely different ballpark.

 _“Mama,”_ Keith complains. “You’re going to scare away my only friend.”

Krolia cackles the entire time it takes for Keith to throw a couch cushion at Shiro and escape to his room.

—

A few minutes later, Keith slinks out of his room and kicks Shiro’s feet to the floor so he can reclaim his spot on the couch. Shiro lets him and holds out Keith’s meal, eyes trained on the television screen. It’s playing a nature documentary about space. 

“I reheated it for you,” he tells Keith as the narrator talks about one of the space stations on one of Pluto’s moons.

“Thanks,” Keith says, curling in on himself. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Shiro says, finally looking over at him.

Keith sinks further into the cushions, staring at his noodles instead of making eye contact with him. It makes Shiro wonder what Krolia talked to him about, if Keith’s dad is alright.

“You okay?” he asks, and Keith’s eyes snap to his.

His cheeks burn red. “Ah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Is your Pop okay?”

The colour in Keith’s cheeks deepens. “Yeah, he’s _fine._ Too fine. They just wanted to be nosy about you.”

“Me?”

“Romi said we were dating,” Keith says with a roll of his eyes.

Shiro bites down on his lips to try and keep calm, because god, he wants nothing more than to reach out for Keith and have him settle on his chest. Maybe Keith will feel how fast Shiro’s heart beats, maybe he’ll place his hand over it and understand just how smitten Shiro is with him already.

“Ah,” Shiro manages to squeak out. “They were seeing who swept their son of his feet then, hm?”

“Shut up,” Keith mutters. “But yeah, sorry about what Mama said to you. She likes to tease me.”

“And you blush so easily with it,” Shiro croons, laughing when Keith whacks him with the couch cushion again. “Hey!”

“You’re an ass,” Keith pouts, eating his noodles grumpily.

Shiro snickers, tucking his feet underneath him. “It’s fine, though. Seriously.”

Keith is still glowering into his noodles. “Okay. But thanks for waiting. She never calls for very long.”

“Like I said,” Shiro shrugs. “It’s fine. Besides, Allura wanted to chat, so it was good timing.”

She’d sent him photos of her trip to the rockpools that morning, and then demanded Shiro come with her the next time she went home so that her father could meet him. It sounds like a good idea.

“Do you like her?” Keith asks casually—too casually.

“Allura?” Shiro frowns, tilting his head to the side. “Why?”

Keith digs around in his noodles for a bit before answering. “You guys seem super close, that’s all.”

“We’re best friends,” Shiro says carefully. “We met on the first day of class and have been here ever since.”

“Ah,” Keith says, still fossicking for gold in his noodles. “Like Pidge and I.”

“Yeah.” Shiro fiddles with the panelling on his right arm, and then adds, “But if you mean romantically, then no. She’s like my sister.”

“Oh,” Keith says, and Shiro bites his tongue because he doesn’t know what Keith likes, but he’s hoping it isn’t Allura.

Shiro definitely doesn’t like Allura.

“Why,” he says, using a teasing tone a smokescreen. “Do _you_ like her? Can’t believe you’d disappoint your mother like that and not give her the wedding she wants.”

“You really are an ass,” Keith says, kicking out at him again. “Fuck knows why I put up with you.”

“You love me,” Shiro gasps.

Keith fixes him with the most unimpressed stare, Shiro thinks that if he were a smaller person, he might have burst into flames on the spot.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, but it’s with a smile, and he has to hide his face in his noodles when he says it.

Shiro thinks he might be a bit in love.

  
  


**— three —**

Winter fades into a Spring that promises to be bright and warm, and after the bitter cold of the last few months, Shiro welcomes it gladly. Spring means Pidge’s hayfever kicks into full gear and Kosmo sheds even more than usual, and it means Keith gradually trading out his denim jeans for clothes that show more skin, more leg, more _thigh._ Shiro was gone before, with Keith head to toe in black clothing, but Keith’s Spring wardrobe brings a different kind of torture.

“Keep up, old man,” Keith teases him one morning as they run around the lake with Kosmo bounding ahead.

Shiro is only four years older than Keith, but Keith never lets him forget it, especially any time that Shiro decides to take their runs easy instead of sprinting full pelt like Keith is prone to.

“My knees are aching,” he simpers.

“Whose floors have you been cleaning?” Keith says. Shiro loves the sound of his voice, truly. “Mine are _filthy.”_

“My own, obviously,” he shoots back, and Keith clutches his tongue between his teeth, turning and sprinting to catch up with Kosmo.

Shiro really, _really_ wishes he was more of a gentleman. He isn’t though, because he’s staring at Keith’s ass and can’t quite get a good enough grip on himself to stop immediately.

Later, Keith asks if Shiro is being slow because of the building heat.

Shiro lets him think that.

Spring means the beginning of music festival season, something that Shiro has never really paid attention to until now. Oriande Music Fest isn’t his idea of fun at all, but Allura is the one who accosts him first, hair flying as she shoves her phone in his face and demands they go.

Allura being keen means Romelle is keen, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that where Keith’s sister goes, Keith will inevitably follow.

Shiro likes to think that maybe the reason Keith doesn’t hesitate to join the bandwagon is because Shiro is going, but then he scolds himself for being so selfish and buys a ticket without further thought.

Hunk picks him up on the day to head to Keith’s place to get ready, presenting him with a bagel and a coffee. It’s such a Hunk thing to do: collect Shiro in his car with breakfast and make sure he’s prepared for a big day of drinking and partying.

“Sleep well?” he asks breezily, like he has no idea that Shiro was up all night with Keith teaching him about the stars.

They sat on Shiro’s balcony, watching the sky, and Shiro kept wondering if maybe he was rambling too much and Keith was bored, before Keith shut down that train of thought by asking Shiro about a different constellation every time he trailed off.

“Why didn’t you do something that would get you into space?” Keith asked when the conversation died down.

Shiro just responded by pointing to his arm. “Not exactly protocol.”

Keith sobered at that, and then he curled closer to Shiro and laid a hand on his arm, over the panelling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Shiro said, warmth spreading outwards from Keith’s touch to his cheeks.

Keith lit him on fire, most days. The sensation was nothing new, even if it felt like the best and worst feeling at the same time; the best, because it was Keith, and the worst, because here they were, months after meeting, and Shiro was still selfish enough to want more from Keith than the steadfast friendship they had.

Hunk’s bagel is fresh from the oven and Shiro chews on it as he tries to gather his thoughts to answer. This is why he goes running first thing in the morning; it gives him time to wake up and be a sleep-addled gremlin before he has to have any human interaction. Sleeping in was a mistake today.

“Totally,” he finally manages, cream cheese melting in his mouth. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Figured you’d just have a protein shake,” Hunk says, and Shiro stuffs another bite of bagel into his mouth because Hunk is right and Shiro just really likes this bagel, okay? It’s not a _crime._

Besides, Hunk looks a little like he just rolled out of bed too, so the score seems a little more even.

Pidge and Hunk’s friend Lance is there already, sitting still as Romelle dabs glitter onto his cheeks while Allura presses diamantés to Pidge’s face. She’s done up in a rainbow outfit that reminds Shiro of a unicorn.

“Hi, darling,” she says, kissing his cheek and brushing glitter onto it.

“Morning,” Shiro says, coffee staining his mouth.

He should really brush his teeth. Allura looks like a rainbow fairy and smells like a cotton candy dream. Shiro smells and looks exactly like the amount of sleep he missed out on last night.

“You’re wearing glitter, right?” Pidge says to him. “It’s totally your turn.”

“Hi, Pidge,” Shiro says pointedly. “Good to see you too.”

“You’re late,” Pidge says simply, before piping down when Allura fusses over Pidge moving so much and disrupting her handiwork to her face. “Sorry.”

“Stop distracting her and sit down, Shiro,” Allura scolds, pushing him down into the chair next to her.

“As you wish,” he says, and when Romelle rounds on him excitedly, armed with a glitter stick, he grins. “Do your worst.”

“Of course!” Romelle’s forehead is covered in diamantés and they wink in the light as she smears glitter on Shiro’s cheeks and nose scar. Her outfit is a little like Allura’s, only it’s blue and pink instead.

“Where’s Keith?” Shiro asks as she works, wondering if he’s being too obvious but finding it difficult to care. It _is_ Keith’s apartment after all, and Romelle is his sister. It’s a normal question to be asking.

On cue, with impeccable timing, Keith enters, answering. “I was getting drinks.”

Shiro whirls, making Romelle squeal unhappily and scramble to keep from getting glitter all over Shiro’s hair. Keith has already been accosted by his sister in the glitter department, and she’s covered his scar too.

“Hey, sleepy head,” he grins at Shiro, and Shiro wants to kiss him.

“Nice glitter,” Shiro says instead.

“You too,” Keith snorts.

He’s wearing a black top that clings in all the right places and Shiro _knows_ he’s doing a horrible job at not staring at Keith, but it’s difficult not to, especially when Keith stretches up to fetch the whiskey from above the fridge. His shirt rides up with the movement and Shiro gets lost, looking at the skin of Keith’s lower back.

Jesus.

Lance stumbles out of one of the rooms, having changed into something less like pyjamas and more like festival clothing, and he grabs the first alcoholic drink he can find. “Alright, nerds, party time!”

—

The sun is long down by the time the last supporting act clears the stage to make way for the main act. Shiro feels like a cloud, floating in the sky. He’s lost count of how many drinks he’s had so far, and Keith wandered off a few minutes ago, but Shiro didn’t quite hear where he was going.

He misses him. He knows it’s stupid.

Keith has been plastered to his side all day so it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship to be without Keith for a few minutes.

But it is, and Shiro is drunk enough to consider moping about it, until Romelle and Pidge accost him, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from dancing down closer to the stage.

“Where’s your husband?” Pidge demands.

Shiro blinks at them. “Who?”

“Keith!” Pidge says. “Who else would it be?”

Shiro guesses she’s probably right on that front. “Oh. I don’t know, Hunk?”

Pidge guffaws. “As if.”

“What’s up?” Keith asks, returning to them. He’s tired his hair up into a messy bun for now and Shiro still really wants to kiss him.

“There you are,” Pidge scolds him. “Your husband was all worried.”

“I wasn’t,” Shiro protests.

Keith grins, slumping next to him in the grass and wrapping his arm around Shiro’s shoulders before kissing his cheek sloppily. “Did you miss me, husband?”

Shiro laughs nervously, mind tripping over the way the word ‘husband’ sounds in Keith’s voice, and the fact that Keith’s lips were pressed to his face moments ago.

 _Oh my god,_ Shiro thinks.

Pidge answers before he gets the chance to, with a simpering, “He was wasting away, Keith.”

Keith smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling, glitter everywhere, and Shiro moves before he can second guess himself, nuzzling Keith’s cheek as his heart pounds. Keith is always beautiful but the glitter on his face makes Shiro want to haul Keith into his arms and keep him there so he can stare at his eyes and tell Keith just how pretty he thinks they are.

Oblivious, Keith jokes, “Choke me,” and Shiro almost loses his mind.

He doesn’t, though, instead sliding his prosthetic hand up Keith’s chest until he can loosely grip Keith’s throat and mouth at his cheek. Keith laughs at that, fingers curling around Shiro’s wrist in response, and then he turns and squishes their noses together.

Pidge cackles at that, grasping both their hands. “Come on, husbands, the next act is gonna start soon.”

Keith grins at Shiro, always knocking Shiro for six with his smile, and Shiro stumbles along behind him, back into the crowd.

They dance.

Or at least, they try to. It’s more Shiro moving to the beat while Keith actually dances, because Shiro always feels too big for the space he occupies and he’s got _no_ rhythm. In comparison, Keith is like liquid as he moves; he’s a vision, he’s the best thing Shiro’s ever seen, hair in his eyes, full of wild energy, stunning, so stunning.

Keith’s arms hook around neck as they stumble to the beat and he’s slurring, “You’re my best—bestest friend, Shiro, I love you.”

The words hit Shiro right in the middle of his chest and he hides his face in Keith’s hair, wishing he wasn’t so drunk, wishing he was brave enough to kiss Keith the way he’s been wanting to for so long now.

But he doesn’t, instead looking up to see Allura perched on Hunk’s shoulders. She looks like a queen up there, and she chirps at Keith to join her.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, wondering why he didn’t think of it earlier, “Jump up.”

Keith shakes his head. “And have you drop me? No thanks.”

“Trust me!” Shiro yells above the beat.

Keith rolls his eyes, but he lets Shiro turn around and get to his knees. Honestly, this wasn’t entirely how Shiro envisaged his first time between Keith’s legs going but he’s not complaining, especially when Keith’s knees flex either side of Shiro’s head and Shiro folds his hands more fully over each thigh to hold him there.

They squeeze when Shiro stands and Keith’s laugh is breathless. “You okay up there?”

“Don’t drop me,” Keith threatens.

Shiro rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to kiss Keith’s thigh. “I make no promises.”

—

The morning sun is _bright._

Brighter than bright, almost illegally so. Shiro groans awake, hand patting around the bedspread until he manages to locate his phone in the blankets. Keith is sprawled next to him, snoring gently, head turned away from him.

There’s glitter everywhere.

Shiro really should have had more water yesterday. His head feels like a metronome.

There’s two missed calls from Matt, and too many notifications on his instagram. He flicks through, seeing the group photos and the one of Keith carrying his sister and wearing her coloured sunglasses, before he comes across two on Romelle’s page of Keith kissing his cheek, and the next of him kissing Keith’s face while his hand is on Keith’s throat, and oh. God, Shiro likes that more than he should.

Keith shifts next to him, lifting his head to blink blearily at Shiro.

Shiro can’t help himself and he laughs at the sight of Keith’s hair sticking up and face still covered in glitter.

“Morning, husband,” he teases, because he can, because he likes the sound of it.

Keith whacks him halfheartedly, sloppy with sleep. “Shut the fuck up.”

Shiro pouts. “Is that any way to treat your husband?”

Keith whacks him again, properly this time, and it hits home. Then he buries his face in the pillow again. “I want a divorce.”

  
  


**— four —**

It’s the end of summer break and graduation is looming.

Shiro and Keith are sitting together on one side of the fire while the rest of their friends mill about on the other. Lance and Pidge are versing each other at cards while Acxa holds Romelle, watching, and Allura disappeared with Pidge’s brother a few minutes ago to bring more alcohol down from her house.

The waves crash on the shore to their right, and it’s calming, being near the fractal energy. The summer storms are staying away for tonight, the wind is behaving, and it’s a bit perfect, a bit poetic, simply existing like this, in these moments. It’s the kind of evening gathering that Shiro sees in coming of age films, of feeling untouchable and infinite.

Shiro doesn’t want to think about his final exams, but he’s fairly sure he did alright with them. Keith hadn’t wanted to talk about them when they’d walked out of the exam hall last week, so Shiro is hoping it’s a good sign.

He’s already envisaged the day in his mind; the two of them, standing with their families taking graduation photos together. He met Keith’s parents a few months ago when they came to visit for the afternoon on their way back to Marmora from Daibazaal. Romelle was with Acxa’s family celebrating Acxa’s mother’s birthday, so it was just Shiro and Keith.

Keith spent most of his time at his father’s side, arms around him, while Krolia had played with his hair. The two of them had sandwiched their son in a hug after dinner, and then pulled Shiro into it too, like he was one of them.

“You gotta come visit, Shiro,” Tex said afterwards, when Keith and Shiro were saying farewell at the car.

Krolia nodded wholeheartedly. “Kit, make sure he comes home with you after exams.”

“Sure, Mama,” Keith said, kissing her cheeks and sending them off.

Shiro stayed over that night, because it was late, and because he wanted to listen to Keith talk about how their parents met. It was easy, lying on the couch with Keith, to think of their own situation, and wonder if it would ever be something more.

“You okay?” Keith asks Shiro, picking up on Shiro’s shifting and interpreting it as Shiro wanting to move from their current position.

It couldn’t be further from the truth. “Hm? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Keith says.

He’s nursing a whiskey and coke, something Shiro still can’t fully stomach. Keith always snorts and asks how he can drink beer but not whiskey.

They’re different, Shiro reasons in his head. One tastes like petrol, the other tastes like carbs.

Keith chooses that moment to slump against his side more fully, and Shiro warms at the motion, reaching around to hold him with his prosthetic without thought. Keith fits perfectly there, Shiro thinks, especially when he sighs at Shiro stroking his arm.

“You’re my best—bestest friend, I love you,” Keith had slurred at the music festival, and Shiro wanted that, but he wanted more too.

But that’s nothing different.

Shiro has wanted everything ever since he tripped over Kosmo all those months ago, ever since Keith showed up at Hunk’s apartment in his combat boots and red jacket and managed to wheedle his way into all of Shiro’s thoughts and memories until Shiro feels like he can paint the town red with it.

Shiro runs his fingers through Keith’s hair mindlessly, before gently digging his fingers into Keith’s scalp, massaging.

“I’m gonna marry you if you keep doing that,” Keith mumbles.

Shiro pauses, heart in his throat, before he forces himself to keep moving. “Yeah?”

Keith nods sleepily. “Yeah, feels so good.”

Shiro closes his eyes, because his traitorous imagination is _very_ efficient at coming up with more scenarios in which Keith could say that to him, like Keith, on all fours above him, rocking his hips back to meet Shiro’s, or Keith’s thighs around his head, sighing like he is now, groaning, even. Maybe he’d pull Shiro’s hair instead.

“Good,” Shiro says, fighting to keep his tone even.

To distract himself, he focuses on the feeling of Keith’s hair. It’s lovely and silky between his fingers and Keith is easy and pliant under Shiro’s touch.

Lance is losing at a new card game with Hunk now, and Romelle is still sipping her cider daintily while cradled in Acxa’s arms, and if there was ever a time that Shiro could think of as the definition of a _moment,_ then it would be this: Keith, with his eyes closed, the firelight dancing across his face. His mouth is damp with whiskey, his dark brows relaxed, cheekbones flushed, and Shiro wants to badly to lean in and kiss him.

It would be so easy, too.

Nothing more than leaning down and brushing his lips across Keith’s. He wonders if Keith would let him, if Keith would hold him there with a hand on Shiro’s neck and kiss him back.

“Keith?” Shiro asks softly, most of the tangles gone from Keith’s hair.

Keith hums curiously.

 _Ask him, Takashi,_ Shiro thinks, and for a moment he’s suspended, panicking, because it’s been months since the festival, forever since he met Keith, and yet Shiro feels he’s known Keith his whole life.

“Can—”

“We’re back, losers!” Matt crows, holding a box of drinks above his head triumphantly. “Good to see you didn’t burn yourselves while we were gone.”

Keith stirs, squinting up at the two menaces. “Shut the fuck up, Matt.”

“Make me, Kogane,” Matt winks, and he drops a new beer at Shiro’s side. “Drink up, Shirogane, you’re lagging.”

“I’ve already had three,” Shiro whines.

“I don’t care!” Matt taps his bottle against Shiro’s. “Bottoms up, Shirogane.”

Shiro sighs and does as he’s told.

Matt grins wolfishly at him and ducks around to the other side to heckle Hunk into drinking more beer. Romelle levels him with a scathing look over the top of her glass when he suggests she should scull her cider. Pidge cackles and passes Keith another whiskey.

—

It’s much later—when the fire is beginning to die down and the others are doing more yawning than talking—that Keith gets to his feet. Shiro’s bones ache from being in one position for so long, but it was worth it, the way Keith has nestled against his side and only moved to complain after the one time Shiro stopped playing with his hair.

“Come on,” Keith says, heading down to the water.

Stars above, Shiro would follow him anywhere.

The sand is cooler here, and damp under his feet. Keith is up to his ankles, and when Shiro joins him, he’s rewarded with a grin.

“This was a good idea,” Keith says, referring to the entire night, and Shiro has to agree.

Matt and Pidge might claim the idea as their own, and it might be Allura’s beach house that they’re all about to crash in, but Shiro was the one to convince Keith to come instead of staying home in Terra for the long weekend.

“I’m glad you came,” he says. “Really glad.”

“You would have missed me too much,” Keith says, and yeah, Shiro would have.

“I always miss you,” he says, hushed, almost too quiet to hear above the steady ebb and flow of the waves.

But Keith hears.

“I always miss you too,” he says.

Shiro looks at him.

Surely not. The way Shiro misses Keith runs deep enough that sometimes Shiro swears it’s in his blood; it leaves him breathless and aching and wondering if perhaps the Greek myth was right, that maybe they really do exist on Earth to find their other half. Keith enters a room and brings the rain and the clouds with him and Shiro has always loved the elements, always lived to stand among storms, and Keith is the monsoon he’d love to be lost in for the rest of his life.

Keith isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at the waves, watching the way the moonlight settles upon the sea. Keith admitted that he’d never seen the beach when Shiro asked if he would join them for the long weekend, since he was finally following through on his promise to go to Allura’s hometown.

“It’s pretty,” Keith says about the ocean, like he’s trying to lighten the mood after such a heavy handed confession.

It _is_ pretty, and Keith is stunning against it. He’s always stunning.

Shiro decides to take the leap.

“Hey,” he says, reaching to link his fingers with Keith’s at their sides.

Keith glances down at the movement, and Shiro is terrified but determined. Keith doesn’t protest when they’re holding hands.

“Shiro?”

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks.

Keith’s eyes keep flicking back and forth between their hands and Shiro’s face. “More than okay.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

Shiro bites his lip, and then he turns to face Keith properly, his free hand curling around Keith’s neck. It’s warm and smooth, and Shiro can feel the quickening of his pulse when he brushes their noses together.

Keith lists into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. There’s no mistaking Shiro’s intentions, and no mistaking Keith’s agreement.

“Then I hope you don’t mind this,” Shiro whispers anyway.

He needn’t have worried.

Keith smiles the entire kiss.

  
  


**— five —**

The second Spring after Shiro kissed Keith on the beach brings about Keith’s parents’ wedding anniversary. It’s a huge event, full of Keith and Romelle’s endless amount of uncles and aunts, and Keith clings to his side throughout the night, tipsy on Marmoran wine.

Shiro clings back, drunk on Keith, happy to let his boyfriend drag him around the gathering to meet more and more of his relatives. There’s so many, Shiro eventually gives up trying to remember all their names. He’s got his hands full trying to answer their questions instead.

Especially when one of Keith’s aunts—whose name goes in one ear and out the other—asks the two of them, “So, when’s the wedding?”

Shiro swallows his beer wrong and Keith just goes pinker, before waving her off and telling her that Aunt Gnov is looking for her. She leaves, but the damage is done.

Keith hides his face in his whiskey for the rest of the night and none of Shiro’s kisses manage to pull him out of it.

Keith is still shaking his head as he walks through their apartment later. Kosmo reaches up to lick his palm in greeting and is rewarded for it with a hug from Keith, who promptly disappears under all the black fur when Kosmo reciprocates.

“Did you hear her?” comes Keith’s muffled grumble. “When’s the wedding?” he says mockingly. “Fuck _off.”_

“It _has_ been almost two years,” Shiro shrugs, hanging up his jacket. “Your parents were married in less than one.”

The Koganes and their extended family don’t fuck around, apparently.

Keith makes more disgruntled noises into Kosmo’s chest instead of answering him. Shiro watches him, heart pounding in his throat as he thinks of Ladnok’s question. Krolia and Tex met and instantly knew they’d be married, and Shiro knew there was no turning back the moment he looked into Keith’s eyes for the first time. 

He makes up his mind.

“Baby?” he says softly.

“What?” Keith says, still grumpy, still buried.

Shiro chuckles, reaching into the pile of fur until he can latch onto his boyfriend’s arm. “Come here.”

“Make me,” Keith retorts brattily, which makes Shiro laugh more, but he tells Kosmo to let Keith up.

Kosmo whines at him, but he’s always had a soft spot for Shiro, something Keith still voices his resentment over, and he moves.

When Keith is free from the huge dog, Shiro pulls him close and kisses him.

Keith responds as he always does, with heat and fire. His mouth is slick and yielding under Shiro’s and Shiro doesn’t think twice about curving his hand over the nape of Keith’s neck as his free hand pushes under Keith’s shirt.

Keith huffs out into his mouth, humoured, but he doesn’t move to make it easier for Shiro; instead he presses closer, arms winding around him.

“Mm,” he mumbles, teething lightly at Shiro’s bottom lip when Shiro’s hands stop pawing at the buttons of his shirt to grope at his ass instead. “Is this really why you made me crawl out from under Kosmo?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, a half-truth. “I’d much rather have you under _me.”_

Keith breaks away with a laugh, before it merges into a moan when Shiro sucks a mark onto his throat. He’s sensitive there, always has been, and Shiro indulges in tugging on Keith’s hair to expose more of it, a thrill singing through him at the sounds Keith makes in response.

“Hopeless,” Keith says, as if he isn’t answering Shiro’s kisses readily, as if he isn’t trying to work on the buttons of Shiro’s dress shirt. “You’re hopeless.”

Shiro ignores him, pulling him to their room instead.

Keith is a firestorm, draping over Shiro’s chest and demanding all of his attention. Shiro doesn’t hesitate in handing it over freely.

He’s all Keith’s.

It’s slow, unhurried sex; suitable, Shiro thinks, after the hours of socialising they both went through. Shiro loves Keith’s family, but there’s only so much of anyone that Shiro can stand before he’s aching to return to the quiet.

Except for Keith.

Shiro will never tire of spending every possible minute with him.

Keith gasps out when Shiro pushes into him, and Shiro can only respond with, “I love you,” heart still somewhere between his head and his chest.

Afterwards, Keith brushes the hair from Shiro’s eyes and then kisses him for a long time. Shiro runs his fingers over Keith’s knuckles, lingering.

He loves Keith’s hands, loves how nimble they are, loves kissing each fingertip and twining their hands together. Keith is talented with his hands and the way he makes Shiro fall apart with them, and sometimes Shiro will catch himself staring at them. He doesn’t hate his prosthetic anymore, doesn’t look at it with quite as much loathing as he used to, and mostly it’s because Keith has never treated it as any different to his human one. But compared to his, Keith’s hands are beautiful, and they’re just another item on the long list of things that Shiro loves about Keith.

He looks at Keith’s hands and wants a ring on them; he looks at Keith and sees the rest of his life.

“What are you thinking of?” Keith asks, burrowing further into his grasp, and Shiro eases a kiss into his hair, heart doing somersaults in his chest at how lucky he is to have such a spitfire person to give himself to freely, someone who has never once judged him and constantly been there for him.

He doesn’t have to think twice. “Marrying you.”

Keith snorts. “Sap.”

Shiro lets the word sink in. He could pass it off as a joke, could agree with Keith and let the moment float away, and maybe in the morning he could wake Keith up with more kisses and orgasms and maybe he’d say it in passing again, just to see how Keith would react. But Shiro is impatient, and it feels _right,_ to tell him now while they’re nothing but skin and bones and souls bared to one another.

“I’m serious,” Shiro says quietly.

That makes Keith pause. “Actually?”

Shiro bites his lip, then rolls over. The drawer opening is so loud.

When he faces Keith again, he finds him cross-legged, frowning.

“I’m serious,” Shiro says, voice shaking, fingers trembling, heart jumping up from his chest into his throat and free falling all the way back down in a never-ending loop, because there’s no way he can take it all back now, no way he can hide the box in his hands. It feels like a grenade. “I’m serious, I—” he laughs. _“Keith.”_

Keith’s mouth opens and closes. “What—no, I—”

And Shiro’s brain is latching onto the ‘no’ and his heart is freezing over suddenly, until Keith scrambles to his side of the bed and digs through his own drawer until he returns with a box of his own.

That—that’s not a no, that’s a _box_ and Keith is opening it and it’s a _ring box—_

Keith is tearing up, laughing, and he’s saying, “Takashi, you fucking idiot—” but Shiro doesn’t let him finish the rest of his sentence.

He kisses Keith’s wobbly smile instead.

  
  


**— one —**

Summer ends, and the world sets itself ablaze once more.

They’ve got another cold Winter to look forward to, but there’s so much warmth within Shiro that he almost feels like he could blend in with the surroundings, with the glorious sunset he’s currently staring at.

Keith is sitting with him, the two of them basking in the silence after such a busy day.

Behind them, the wedding festivities are still going. Shiro knows that Hunk will be leading Allura around the dance floor, and Romelle will be eating cake, because she’s got the biggest sweet tooth and Acxa will always indulge her girlfriend. Colleen and Sam will be on the sidelines, amongst all of Keith’s huge family, and Shiro knows for a fact that Tex and Krolia will be tangled up there too, curled around each other like teenaged lovebirds.

He’ll go back to it all eventually.

Right now, Shiro just wants to watch the sunset, and Keith.

Keith, whose eyes are trained on the horizon, whose hair is still braided from earlier when Shiro met him with Krolia and Romelle. Shiro’s hands were shaking the entire time he wove flowers into Keith’s hair, and afterwards, they just stared at each other, smiling like idiots.

Shiro tried very hard not to cry.

He was not successful.

He doesn’t think he stood a chance anyway, with how Keith had looked at him as he’d said his vows, voice hoarse with emotions. Shiro held Keith's hand the moment he noticed Keith’s eyes welling up, and then Keith squeezed back when it was Shiro’s turn and he wept his way through the entire thing.

Keith’s cheeks are still rosy, flushed from the running Matt had made them do for their wedding photos, and Shiro reaches out to sweep a gentle thumb over them, loving the colour of it. Keith was in red the first time they met properly, and the stain on his face matches his suit.

He’s still stunning.

“Hey,” Shiro whispers, happiness bubbling up anew inside him when Keith looks at him and smiles sweetly. “Come here.”

“Ask me nicely,” Keith says, mouth curved into a smirk, lips wet from the bourbon glass he’s nursing.

Shiro loves this ridiculous man.

“Keith, baby,” he says softly. “Love of my life. _Husband._ Can you please come here?”

Keith never goes without a fight, never gives in on the first instance, and so of course he doesn’t budge. Instead he takes a long, slow drink of his bourbon, eyes locked on Shiro’s, and suddenly Shiro is a lot less concerned about winning this little game of theirs and more interested in knowing if he can finally drag Keith away.

“Love it when you ask me so sweetly,” Keith says, setting his glass down and shifting over into Shiro’s waiting arms.

“You are _such_ a brat,” Shiro chuckles, the weight of Keith settling against his side better than anything.

“And you’re stuck with me,” Keith says, tangling their hands together. “Forever.”

Shiro looks at their hands, at how bigger his one is, at the shiny bands around their fingers glowing in the sunset. “We really did that, huh?”

Keith stays quiet as he brings their hands to his mouth. “Yeah.” He reaches for Shiro’s prosthetic then, kisses the palm of it. “We did.” He snorts, pressing another kiss further along. “Took enough people joking about it, I guess.”

Shiro nods. “Yeah, since the very start, huh? When Hunk teased us.”

Keith laughs. “I was already lost on you by then, anyway.”

“I was lost the first time I saw your eyes,” Shiro admits.

Keith groans. “You are _such_ a sap.”

“I’m yours,” Shiro reminds him, heart aching happily at the metal pressing into his finger, and he tucks his nose into Keith’s hair. “God, I adore you.”

Keith turns his face up to smile sweetly at him, accepting the kisses Shiro scatters across his mouth, tipping halfway into Shiro’s lap when he tries to answer them. It makes Shiro laugh, cupping Keith’s chin between his hands.

“You’re the best part of me,” Shiro murmurs. “The _best.”_

“Love you,” Keith says, beautiful face bright and warm, and he’s staring at Shiro with stars in his eyes. “You are my whole heart.”

**— end —**

**Author's Note:**

> here you can find Becky's beautiful art on twitter for Shiro and Keith at the [beach](https://twitter.com/hymnaria/status/1207101476545413120?s=20) and on their [wedding day](https://twitter.com/hymnaria/status/1207100687731109889?s=20), and you can bug _me_ on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sepiacigarettes) too!


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